


Accidental Harmony (Just Call Them Grant & Barrymore)

by dollsome



Series: In which Kelly and Andy totally fall in love [2]
Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-21
Updated: 2007-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five impromptu duets between Kelly Kapoor and Andy Bernard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Harmony (Just Call Them Grant & Barrymore)

1\. _i hope you don’t mind_  
  
The week after Ryan dumps her and jets (okay, drives) off to New York to be the new Jan or whatever, Andy burns everybody in the office a CD of himself singing a capella.  
  
“Did it with GarageBand,” he tells Kelly, grinning in this proud swaggery way like this makes him the new Blake Lewis or something. “Weekend project.”  
  
“That’s nice,” she answers coolly, and goes back to reading stuff on People.Com.  
  
He kinda looks like a puppy that just got kicked, but she doesn’t feel too bad, because _hi_ , he’s not the only person hurting around here. And besides, a capella is for losers. He’s pretty much asking for it.  
  
When she gets home that night, she curls up on the couch for a Friends rerun, except it turns out she’s seen this episode like nine times and she’s not really in the mood to watch Ross and Rachel get it on in a museum. She’s pretty sure she’s lost all her faith in true love.  
  
“Thanks, Ryan,” she grumbles, turning the TV off.  
  
Andy’s CD is sitting on the kitchen counter, where she’d tossed it when she got home. And normally, she really wouldn’t even think about doing this, except she’s bored and lame and alone, all pre-Colin Firth Bridget Jones, and she’s suddenly struck by the mental image of herself in big red pajamas, half-drunk and lip-synching along to All By Myself.  
  
No. No way.  
  
She pops the CD into the stereo.  
  
“Andrew Bernard here.” His voice spills through her empty apartment, and it is completely super-creepy. God, he’s such a nerd. “And I am here to a-ca-rock your socks off.”  
  
The first song is All By Myself.  
  
“Screw you, Andy,” she mutters. Why do all guys have to suck?  
  
She skips through a bunch of tracks (man, he really likes The Cranberries) before stopping on number six.  
  
“ _My gift is my song . . . and this one’s . . . for you . . ._ ”  
  
And, well, she can’t _skip_ Your Song. It’s, like, a scientific impossibility or something. (She’s seen Moulin Rouge seventeen times.) Although the Elton John version is way lacking in comparison, because, sorry, nobody can beat Ewan McGregor, especially an old gay guy in big dorky glasses.  
  
Ever since the first time she saw it, she’s always dreamed of having a boyfriend who will serenade her all amazingly like Christian does.  
  
Ryan only sang when he was drunk, and, well, it was seriously nothing to get excited over.  
  
It turns out Andy is totally doing the Moulin Rouge version of the song, too, she realizes, because he sings the backing vocals in falsetto just like the stars do, and even throws in the opera-singing moon.  
  
And, well, she can’t help but sing along a little.  
  
Because as long as Satine and Christian are around, you can’t lose your faith in true love all the way, right?  
  
  
  
2\. _now this whole world has no clue what to do with us_  
  
They’re all squished into Meredith’s icky van, heading over to Michael’s condo for a house-warming party, even though it’s only three thirty and technically they’re supposed to be at work. Michael says that Jan gets upset when people aren’t on time, and apparently she’s been super-psycho lately. Kelly can tell, because he totally hasn’t been shaving for like the past three days (it kinda works for him, but she is so not ever telling anybody that), and he twitches every time Pam tells him that Jan’s on the phone. Pam tried to explain to him that showing up three hours early is just as bad as being late, but Michael’s not listening.  
  
Kelly doesn’t even get why Jan moving in deserves a house-warming party, because Michael has totally lived there for like over a year, but whatever. It’s sort of nice that he cares enough to do that kinda thing, she guesses. Ryan sure wouldn’t have. Ryan told her not to tell anybody when he ( _finally_ ) gave her a key to his apartment.  
  
She’s squeezed in between Andy and Angela, which, lucky her. The radio’s on, and the annoying radio announcer guy finally shuts up, and—  
  
“ _Are you ready? (Are you ready?) IF YOU AIN’T GOT NO MONEY TAKE YOUR BROKE …. HOME._ ”  
  
And she might be sitting next to Mother Theresa’s bitchy cousin, but that doesn’t mean she’s not singing along. You don’t just _not_ sing along to Fergie.  
  
Turns out, she’s not the only one who gets this.  
  
“IF YOU AIN’T GOT NO MONEY, TAKE YOUR BROKE … HOME,” Andy chimes in, totally hip hop and making her jump a little. He’s a surprisingly acceptable Ludacris.  
  
Angela lets out a long-suffering sigh as Kelly starts spelling out ‘glamorous,’ but Andy’s totally into it, bopping his head along as she tries her best to dance a little in a van with eleven people squeezed into it.  
  
“Kellylicious,” he mutters into her ear at one point, making her giggle through the whole ‘I don’t care / I’m still real / No matter how many records I sell’ line.  
  
He kisses her hand at the end of the song, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes or punch him or anything even though she probably should. Maybe Andy’s kind of okay.  
  
  
  
3\. _don’t you see, baby, this is perfection_  
  
She’s got Hips Don’t Lie totally stuck in her head, which would normally be cool, but isn’t so much when you’re supposed to be answering peoples’ questions about paper for hours and hours.  
  
She hangs up the phone and raps a pencil against her desk, singing under her breath. “ _I’m on tonight, you know my hips don’t’ lie and I’m starting to feel it’s right, all the attraction, the tension – don’t you see, baby, this is perfection—_ ”  
  
And then, like she’s got her own personal Wyclef Jean at her beck and call, all of a sudden, she hears, “ _Hey girl, I can see your body movin’, and it’s drivin’ me crazy!_ ”  
  
“You, too?” Kelly asks, and can’t help getting a little excited about it. “It’s been totally stuck in my head all day.”  
  
“No way!” Andy exclaims. She’s noticing that lately, it doesn’t bug her so much that everything he says sounds completely cheesy. “El cancion es muy bien, si?”  
  
“I don’t know what that means,” Kelly says, frowning a little.  
  
“What can I say, Miss Kapoor?” Andy asks smoothly, grinning at her. “ _You_ make a man wanna speak Spanish.”  
  
“You’re a dork,” she announces, but she can’t help laughing a little.  
  
“So, la Pamacita wanted me to drop these by,” he announces, drumming his fingers against the manila folder.  
  
She smiles. Maybe in a flirty way. “Thanks, Andy.”  
  
Their fingers brush a little bit when she takes the folder from him. But it’s totally an accident, of course.  
  
  
  
4\. _why wait any longer for the one you love?_  
  
“ _Your clothes are dirty but your, your hands are clean_ ,” Kelly sings to herself as she pulls her salad and her soda (which is one of those Hansen’s Natural ones; they look _so_ cute when Lorelai and Rory drink them all the time on the old seasons of Gilmore Girls) out of the fridge, “ _And I’m the best thing that you’ve ever seen—_ ”  
  
“ _So stay lady, stay – stay while the night is still ahead_ ,” comes a familiar voice as the door opens.  
  
“ _So maybe I’ll stay,_ ” she sings; she doesn’t turn around, but this totally embarrassing big smile suddenly blossoms on her face. “ _Stay while the night is still ahead._ ”  
  
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith soundtrack,” Andy announces, coming to lean against the counter next to her.  
  
Her smile widens even more as she pops open her soda. She’s still not totally used to having someone who’s into all the same stuff she is. “Magnet featuring Gemma Hayes.”  
  
“Pret-ty awesome.”  
  
“Way better than the Bob Dylan rasp-fest.”  
  
“So, Mr. and Mrs. Smith – good movie?”  
  
“ _Great_ movie.”  
  
“Your taste is commendable, Lady Kapoor!”  
  
“As is yours, Lord Bernard!”  
  
“You two are weird,” Kevin declares, grabbing his bologna sandwich and heading out of the kitchen.  
  
She and Andy wind up kinda splitting her salad, because he likes tomatoes and she doesn’t so he eats them for her, and she tells him about how at first, she was totally against Mr. and Mrs. Smith, because of how Brad just totally dumped Jen for Angelina, but then she kinda learned that maybe it was all better this way.  
  
“They’re really beautiful together,” Kelly admits. “With all the charities and the adopting, and oh my God, have you _seen_ Shiloh?”  
  
“Please!” Andy says, doing that short ‘duh!’-type laugh of his. “Who _didn’t_ buy that issue of People?”  
  
“Exactly!” she exclaims, tapping him on the arm to emphasize her point. “And anyway, I guess I just sort of figured out that sure, Jen and Brad were way pretty together, but maybe he was _meant_ to be with Angelina from the start. Like, they’ve got all this stuff in common, and that’s what really makes two people right for each other, right?”  
  
“Completely,” Andy agrees, except he’s not smiling anymore. Instead, his voice is sort of quiet, and he’s staring at her in this really intense way. “And, you know,” he adds, staring down at her salad, “that kinda thing? It can happen a lot. Not just with . . . Brangelina.” He sneaks a glance up at her.  
  
“You mean like Tom and Katie?” she answers, even though she’s pretty sure that’s not what he means, and besides, secretly, sometimes she thinks maybe Tom and Katie aren’t so perfect for each other.  
  
For a second, Andy just stares at her, with what might be the beginning traces of the kicked puppy look.  
  
Except then a (really fake) grin breaks out across his face. “Yup!” he announces with a laugh. “That’s what I was thinkin’! The old Tommmm-Kat. Me _ow_.”  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Kelly agrees, laughing in this total weird nervous way that makes her sound kind of like a dying horse, or maybe Kendra from Girls Next Door.  
  
“Man,” he marvels, shaking his head, like he’s trying to be all enthusiastic and Andyish. “We are so in synch.”  
  
Something about it is kind of sad and kind of exciting and really really uncomfortable.  
  
“So!” she says brightly, desperate for some kind of distraction. “Want to sing Lay Lady Lay from the top?”  
  
“Booyah. Let’s do this thing, Kapoor,” Andy responds abruptly. He grabs two carrot sticks and starts drumming against the table. “And a one, and a two, and a one two three—”  
  
  
  
5\. _to my heart i must be true_  
  
The Dunder Mifflin 4th of July cookout (which is actually on the third of July because everybody’s got other plans for the fourth) is at Jim’s house, and there’s lots of food and karaoke and Jim’s cute roommate Mark – even if he does have a girlfriend, whatever – and Kelly is really, really ready to just have a good time for once.  
  
“Check it out,” Andy announces when he arrives, handing her a CD case.  
  
“Grease karaoke!” Kelly squeals, reading the title, and throws her arms around his neck. “Andy, you _rock_!”  
  
“I try,” he responds with a chuckle, and wraps his arms around her waist for a little longer than is technically acceptable for a friendly yay-for-karaoke!-type hug. She thinks maybe he’s smelling her hair, which is . . . weird.  
  
When they pull apart, he says, “Soooo, Miss Kapoor. Might I request that you join me in performing—”  
  
Except then she stops hearing what he’s saying, because Ryan walks in.  
  
“Oh my God,” she mutters, feeling like someone just dumped cold water all over her.  
  
And it’s not like she hasn’t seen him, or anything, because he’s stopped by work a couple of times to meet with Michael, and the thing is, she’s been _good_. She knows she has, to the point where it even surprised him. She’s been smiley and friendly and totally cool, like he’s just another coworker and not the guy who ripped her still-beating heart from her chest and did a bunch of Nsync moves all over it.  
  
But that’s at work.  
  
This is here. Here, where she’s supposed to be having fun instead of getting her heart danced all over.  
  
“Kelly, what—” Andy follows her gaze, and suddenly inhales all steep and weird. “Ahhh. Big Turkey.” He seems to contemplate something for a second, before asking, “You want me to hit him?”  
  
“What?” Kelly asks, because wow, she was _so_ not expecting that. (Although maybe she should’ve been.)  
  
“To defend your honor,” Andy insists, in that stupid Andy way he has, and she so doesn’t have time for this right now. “I am willing to defend your honor, milady. Fear not – I shall kick his ass.”  
  
“What?” she says again, because that’s pretty much all she can manage. “No! Where the hell did you even come up with that?”  
  
“It’s chivalrous,” Andy says, and there’s her good old friend the kicked puppy face.  
  
“Chivalry’s dead,” she snaps.  
  
“Wait, wait, I know this one,” Andy says, holding up a finger. “But I’m still kinda cute?” He grins at her, like he deserves a reward for working Nelly Furtado into casual conversation.  
  
“So not the time, Andy,” she informs him furiously. She feels like she’s going to throw up. “God. I can’t _believe_ him.”  
  
And even though she’s sort of mean to him, Andy still hides in the bathroom with her for a half hour, sitting on the toilet and handing her squares of toilet paper while she cries.  
  
“I can’t be around him,” she sniffles, pulling her knees to her chest. Her back hurts a little from pressing so long against the bathtub. “I’m totally going to love him forever, and he doesn’t even care about me, and I pretend that I’m all okay with it and everything, but it’s _hard_ and I _do_ care and—”  
  
“Shh,” Andy cuts in gently, carefully tearing off another square of toilet paper and handing it her way. “Let me tell you something about Ryan ‘Big Turkey’ Howard, Kelly.”  
  
“Okay,” she says weakly.  
  
“He,” Andy says matter-of-factly, “does not deserve you. Not for a second. You deserve someone who will appreciate how beautiful and funny and smart and totally kickass you are.”  
  
“That’s what Cosmo said,” she admits, wiping at her left eye.  
  
“Cosmo is correct,” Andy announces gallantly.  
  
“You kind of remind me of Richard Gere in Runaway Bride right now,” she tells him, because this moment has total ‘you want a guy that’ll wake you up at dawn ‘cause he’s bursting to talk to you’ vibes and she’s not exactly sure why.  
  
“And for that, I thank you,” he answers with a noble incline of his head. She reaches over and pats his knee, and for a second he just stares, all enraptured, at her hand, like he cares about her Amster-damsel in Distress nail polish just as much as she does. Then, all of a sudden, he stands up. “You know what? Let’s go out there and show Big Turkey who’s boss.”  
  
She frowns up at him, puzzled. “How?”  
  
“You and I are gonna sing some Grease karaoke,” he informs her, taking her hands in his and pulling her up. “And we’re going to be awesome.”  
  
“Really?” she asks, and she smiles a little bit even though she must look all depressingly awful and blotchy. “What song? Summer Nights, or—”  
  
He turns around and tells her, all quiet, “You’re the one that I want.”  
  
“Whoo-hoo-hoo, honey?” she asks weakly. She doesn’t know why she keeps chickening out like this.  
  
For a split-second, he looks almost disappointed, but then he grins at her. “Exactly.”  
  
When they go out, it’s to see that the Grease karaoke has already been discovered, and Michael and Dwight are currently finishing up like the most disturbing version of Greased Lightning ever. Angela and Oscar watching from the couch, and both of them are scowling.  
  
Andy immediately starts rocking out, mostly because he spends like all of his time sucking up to Dwight and Michael lately to make up for that one time when he punched the wall, and Kelly rolls her eyes. Lately, she keeps forgetting how lame he can be. And the worst part is that him bopping his head like a total loser and murmuring “Greased Lightning! Yeah!” suddenly seems sort of . . . cute. Maybe—  
  
“Kelly.” Her heart, like, stops. “Hi.”  
  
“Oh,” she answers a split-second too late, trying to sound all sophisticated and unaffected as she turns to face him. “Hey, Ryan. How are you?”  
  
“Good,” he answers, although she can tell he’s nervous. He’s kinda shuffling back and forth a little, and his hands are in his pockets. “You?”  
  
“Never been better,” she responds brightly, and kinda wants to die because _God_ , can’t he just leave her alone for once instead of coming back to screw things up over and over again?  
  
“Hey,” he begins, sort of reaching for her arm, and she can tell by the tone of his voice what he’s going to ask. _No. NonononomaybeNO._ “You want to—”  
  
“ _I got chills!_ ”  
  
Ryan stops, all caught off-guard, and glances over in the direction of the karaoke machine. She does, too, and sure enough—  
  
“ _They’re mul_ ti _ply_ in’ _!_ ” Andy continues, totally doing John Travolta proud. “ _And I’m loooooosin’ contro-ol_!”  
  
He winks at her, and right away she knows for sure that he’s doing it to save her from Ryan.  
  
“ _‘Cause the pow-ah you’re supplyyyin’_ –”  
  
And, okay, they’re not dancing in the sky, and the moon isn’t singing backup, but right now, she’s still pretty sure this is the sweetest thing a guy’s ever done for her.  
  
“ _IT’S ELECTRIFYIN’! (Electrifyin’ . . .)_ ” He falls to his knees, Danny-style. He’s looking at her like she’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen.  
  
And it’s not like she’s an idiot. She’s not gonna just let a moment like this go to waste.  
  
“ _You better shape up_ ,” she answers with a smile, leaving Ryan and his stupid half-asked maybe-invitations without a single glance back. “ _’Cause I need a man, and my heart is set on you._ ”  
  
Andy beams at her as he hands her the mic.


End file.
